


A Mother's Bond

by Cumbermarvel (UglyJackal)



Series: Stephen and the Dragon [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyJackal/pseuds/Cumbermarvel
Summary: The edges of the saucepan burned to the sound of rustling flames and centuries-old book pages turning.





	A Mother's Bond

The edges of the saucepan burned to the sound of rustling flames and centuries-old book pages turning. The irritable grey of the pan, framed so delicately with the hot brown that melted into inky soot, was a stark contrast to the pearl-touched shine of the egg that settled inside.

Stephen had often entertained imaginings of the day that the dragon would hatch. Whether it would be male or female, or whether its scales would have been pulled from the depths of the ocean itself, like its mother. She often crossed his mind too. He wondered if she was watching from the spirit realm and regretted not transporting her skeleton back to the Sanctum to coax out her soul in the same way that he had done for Vishanti - at least then, she would have been able to watch her infant grow, and to offer advice for when Stephen’s shaking hands faltered.

But, alas, he had not been so clever.

For the past month, he had been sitting in the armchair by the side of the eternally-crackling fire, waiting for the egg to split open and reveal its contents. He had gotten through many a book while he had been waiting. Vishanti, even though his body was no longer of fur and ligaments, took great pleasure in lounging on the rug in the sunrise glow of the flames. A luxury that he deserved long before his passing. But life was rarely so generous.

The stray dog was currently sprawled out on Stephen’s lap, having somehow worked out that his long legs would fit in the already cramped space. His body was crunched up over the sorcerer’s thighs, his chin resting on the arm of the chair, one back leg hanging off the cushion. Stephen was idly stroking the dog’s ears while he levitated a heavy book at eye level. The only noises that disrupted the silence was the fire and the occasional turn of a page, and if the sorcerer listened closely, the gentle snoring of the dead dog on his lap.

And then, over the lip of his book, Stephen heard a crunch.

A constellation of confusion drifted through twin galaxies that passed from the words on the pages to the saucepan warming itself on the fire.

At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But if he were to look,  _ really _ look, there was a thin crack spreading across the egg’s shell.

It was happening. Stephen was about to witness new life take its first breaths of air.

‘Vishanti? Buddy, you gotta move,’ he mumbled to the dog, who flicked his ears and opened his eyes, then begrudgingly hopped off of Stephen’s lap.

The sorcerer knelt down on the floor in front of the fireplace, eyes fixated on the hairline crack in the egg.

There was a sound reminiscent of a knuckle tapping on a stack of paper, and from the point of the sound spread out an earthquake of cracks. The knocking carried on until there was a splash of the palest blue, and then there was a tiny head poking out of the shell. A small clawed hand reached up and pushed the rest of its chubby body out of the confines of the egg.

The wizard was looking at the tiny dragon with hearts sparkling in his eyes and a wide grin on his lips. He had never believed in the concept of love at first sight, but he had never been more happy to be proved wrong; Stephen had fallen head over heels in love with the small beast and vowed to protect her for as long as he lived.

The newborn dragon was a pale blue, the colour of the sky after a snowstorm, with wings made of stained glass the colour of the deepest depths of the ocean. Tufts of whale blue fur sprouted from the back of her neck, her elbows and the tip of her tail, and the nub of a horn on her nose just starting to grow. And her eyes were an otherworldly blue, they were so bright.

She looked up at Stephen and opened her mouth, and out of her throat came the tiniest of squeaks. The sorcerer felt his heart burst, and he immediately made the same sound in his own mouth. The little dragon looked impossibly happy and staggered to her feet. She took a few steps forward in the pan, then raised her front legs onto the rim of the pot. After a few tries, she managed to pull herself out of the saucepan, though she hadn’t accounted for the fire.

In the space of only a few seconds, Stephen had lunged forward, cast a spell to douse the fire, and cupped his hands to catch the falling dragon.

She looked confused, glancing around her and resting her balance on the unstable surface that she now sat upon. Her bright blue eyes looked up at Stephen, oceans meeting galaxies, and she squeaked again. A squeak that was, again, replicated by the sorcerer. 

Stephen lowered his hands to the carpet and watched her wobble around before looking at his lap and deciding that was her next destination. She heaved herself into the space between Stephen’s legs and settled herself down, her chin resting on his foot. 

The sorcerer choked back a sob as he fell deeper and deeper in love with the little dragon. Vishanti came over and sniffed at the new member for the family. 

There was a creak as the door to the room opened. Stephen turned his head and saw Wong standing in the doorway, face pulled into confusion. 

Eyes full of tears, the wizard grinned at his friend. ‘I’m a mother,’ he whispered, choking on his own joy.

* * *

He called her Tao. The name seemed to roll off of his tongue once he laid eyes on her, and she always wagged her tail and squeaked when she heard it.

Their bond grew quickly, the same flavour that Tao would have shared with her own mother had she lived. They became attached at the hip. The small dragon loved to hide in the spot between Stephen’s neck and the collar of the Cloak, snuggling in for warmth while the sorcerer went about his business around the Sanctum. It was uncommon to see Stephen without a small blue dragon with him.

She learned to fly before she was able to digest meat, and would sometimes fly up to Stephen’s shoulder and perch there, nuzzling his sharpened cheekbone, asking for a bottle.

Humans hadn’t kept dragons in their care for over five hundred years, and the information that the mage had fought tooth and nail to find was a little out of date. It was completely inaccurate in the fact that dragons were born independent and didn’t suckle from their mothers, because they did exactly that.

So Stephen had had to return to the dragon dimension and ask very politely if he could take a sample of dragon milk back to his own dimension. Surprisingly, none of the dragons bit him for his request, and he returned to his kitchen with a vial of what he had wanted. He had asked Tony to run some tests to find out how he could make it himself.

‘This just looks like regular old milk,’ the engineer had said, ‘just buy some from the supermarket.’

‘Just… do it?’ Stephen had replied.

It turned out that dragons were not so dissimilar to cows in the fact that their milk was almost the exact same - though dragon milk contained something that was the equivalent to cinnamon.

And so, every three hours, Tao would get a bottle of cow’s milk with a dash of cinnamon sprinkled in it.

The problem with baby dragons was that they couldn’t tell the difference between a teat on a mother dragon and a nipple on a male human.

It was the middle of summer and disgustingly hot. The sort that had greedy fingers that pulled sweat from the pores like a dehydrated man drinking sap from a tree. The sort where clothes were donned out of decency rather than a necessity. And Stephen was sleeping without a shirt on.

It was 3am when a hungry three-month-old dragon flapped into the sleeping wizard’s room and landed in front of his face on the pillow. Her little clawed paw raised and dropped onto his cheek, nudging quite harshly. Out of her throat came growls and grumbles that voiced her hunger.

With a groan of his own, Stephen opened his eyes. He looked up at Tao and sighed. ‘Whatssss’up…?’ he grumbled.

The dragon perked up, her tail wagging and her ears flapping as she expressed her joy that her mama had woken up. She growled her “hungry growl” for conscious ears.

‘You’re hungry?’

Tao chirped like a chick.

‘Alright.’

He lifted himself up, joints popping and creaking as he stretched. He made his way into the kitchen and pulled the carton of milk from the fridge. He filled a bottle, making sure to keep it suspended over the sink in case his shaking hands made him spill any, which he did, and he frowned as the liquid ran down the plug. He grabbed the box of cinnamon from the cupboard and sprinkled a little into the bottle, then put the lid on and shook it to mix the formula.

He held out his arms to Tao, who immediately settled in his hold like a baby. Just as he was about to offer her the teat of the bottle, she bit down with full force on Stephen’s exposed nipple.

Doctor Stephen Strange had been in a car accident; lost the use of his hands; almost frozen to death on Mount. Everest; had been stabbed in the chest, and had died over a thousand times to Dormammu’s ethereal hands. And yet, the tiny teeth of a baby dragon biting down on his nipple was by far the worst kind of pain that he had been in.

And he screamed.

‘OW, OW, OW!’ he cried. ‘Darlin’, please let go? You’re not gonna get any milk out of there, please, please let go? That really hurts.’

Tao let go just as Wong opened the door, her tail was wagging and she roared in response to Stephen’s shout of pain. Through his watering eyes, Stephen looked at the little dragon with pride; it was her first roar as opposed to squeaking.

Wong took in Stephen’s watering eyes and the shaking hand on his chest, and erupted in laughter. The wizard looked over at Wong with a frown.

From that moment onwards, Stephen learned to keep his shirt on while feeding Tao.

* * *

What Stephen had been most concerned about was how Vishanti and Tao would get along. He was thankful that, what with the dog not having a physical body, no one would be getting hurt. However, he didn’t particularly want to put up with any arguments.

But he had been worrying for nothing; Vishanti took to Tao as though she was his own pup. Often, they would play together, chasing each other around the Sanctum, as Vishanti was unable to pick up a toy. Sometimes, Stephen would lower his book to see the translucent dog and the baby dragon carrying a ball-shaped object pleading him with their eyes to play with them, which often led to Stephen rolling the object across the carpet for the two to chase after.

And in the night, Vishanti and Tao had taken to sleeping on Stephen’s bed, curled up with each other, the dog laying at the mage’s back and the dragon laying in the embrace of the dog’s legs.

Walking around the Sanctum, even though she was able to fly, Tao had often perched herself on Vishanti’s head and stayed there while the dog did his utmost to keep her safe there.

They were the best of friends. All four of them, two wizards, their ghost dog and a six month old dragon. They were an odd-looking family, but they all loved and cherished each other more than they let on sometimes.

* * *

‘I’ll be back soon, my loves,’ he said, shaking hands scratching the spots that they loved.

And with a swish of the Cloak, Stephen left out the Sanctum door on the tail of Iron Man, Wong hot on his heels. 

And they waited. They sat at the door for hours, waiting for them to come home. 

She waited. 

He waited. 

They didn’t leave their places. He was a good boy. She was a good girl. 

So they stayed and they waited. 

Even though it was past her feeding time. Even though it was time for them to be cuddled up on Stephen’s bed. Even though they were tired and bored. 

They waited through the smoking screams outside, through the confusion of half of the universe, through the fear and the panic. 

And then Wong came home. 

Tails waved and ghostly barks filled the air as they greeted their friend. But something was wrong. Wong didn’t laugh, he didn’t pet them, he didn’t speak. He just cried. 

Excited barks and happy roars turned into concerned whines and curious growls. 

Wong didn’t even look at them. The words seemed heavy on his tongue.

‘He’s gone.’

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/stephenstrangestan


End file.
